


Some Scars Don't Heal

by Mostly_Angst_Whoops



Series: My tumblr stuff [12]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: A rollercoaster but also one of the first things I wrote for this fandom, Angst, F/M, Forgiveness, Post-Reynolds Pamphlet, TW: Blood, ask to tag, or for any fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 13:40:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11829888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mostly_Angst_Whoops/pseuds/Mostly_Angst_Whoops
Summary: An AU where negative emotions manifest as physical wounds.





	Some Scars Don't Heal

**Author's Note:**

> The AU is my friend Alessandra's idea. She's fucking amazing okay

Eliza didn’t have scars. Most of the wounds she got healed over within a few days. In a week, there would barely be any evidence that the wound had been there in the first place. It was one of her key character traits. the unrelenting forgiveness. Never had her wounds run so deep.

Angelica had warned her, as soon as she read the first letter from Alexander. There were crisscrossing scars all across his body, reminders of the impossible amounts of pain and guilt and anger and sorrow that Alexander had gone through all of his life. Eliza had been intrigued at first, wanting to find out how every scar had carved its way into Alexander’s skin. Angelica told her to stay away. Negativity would follow him around. Eliza remembered running her soft fingers over every single one of them, huddled together in the darkness next to Alexander. 

Pain.

Eliza felt an awful twisting in her gut, her hands squeezing the papers that were in her hand. They crumpled up, the words folding onto themselves. The Reynolds Pamphlet. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be fake. There was no way that Alexander-

Still, Eliza knew Alexander’s writing. Alexander had written this. 

Alexander had written this.

Eliza could begin to feel a cut digging itself into his back, pain blossoming immediately. She sank her head deeper into her knees. She continued to sob, even as the cut opened up and the warm blood began to flow down her back.

Guilt.

Had she not been enough? Alexander had never taken a break, never spent time with his family. Were they not enough? It was Eliza’s fault, really. She should’ve tried harder to get Alexander to take a break. She should’ve done more, been more. She looked down at the letters Alexander wrote to her. She never wrote enough back.

Eliza should’ve listened to Angelica’s warning. She should’ve known that every scar on Alexander’s skin wouldn’t have been from others hurting him. The guilt and the anger from his own actions would’ve manifested itself as cuts and welts on his body. She should’ve known it would’ve happened eventually. Alexander would hurt her.

Another wound opened up on Eliza’s shoulder, ripping down her soft, even skin. She’d never gotten cuts so deep. She would be telling Alexander right now, and Alexander would be comforting her. But he wasn’t hers. He would never be hers.

Anger.

It took a few seconds of sobbing for Eliza to realize that it wasn’t her fault. It’s was Alexander’s. If he really care about their family, he would spend time with them. Not lock himself in a room with his precious work. Not take advantage of an abused girl knocking on his door. None of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for Alexander. 

Alexander could’ve come to Eliza with the information. They could’ve talked it out together, like adults. Eliza could forgive. 

Finding out from a damn pamphlet? For someone who was so concerned with his legacy, this was one of the stupidest moves possible. Eliza let out a dark chuckle, the words dancing in front of her. She picked up a match, holding the flame to Alexander’s signature, and watching the letter slowly burn up in her hands.

With the fire in her eyes, another would burned it’s way into her chest. She winced from the pain. This one didn’t open up. It was just an angry red welt that crossed her chest.

Sorrow.

Alexander wasn’t hers anymore. He’d never be hers again. He could say whatever he wanted, but Eliza would always know that he had picked someone else over her. That she would never be enough for him. That he had decided that she wasn’t enough for him. Eliza looked down at the ashes of the letters, tears dripping down her face. A final deep cut burned its way onto her cheekbone, where everyone could see. 

Everyone had their eyes on them now, Alexander and Eliza. The world didn’t have the right to know. 

She pushed herself off of the ground and found a towel. Eliza wiped the blood away, dressing her own wounds the way she used to dress Alexander’s wounds. She pulled on a clean dress, washing her face with water.

There was a distant knocking at the door, and Eliza pulled herself back to reality, putting on a brave face. The whispers echoing around her would eventually stop. The knocking persisted, and she slowly descended the stairs, every part of her body aching with each movement, tendrils of pain swimming through her body.

Eliza wrapped her fingers around the doorknob, pulling the door open. Her eyes fell on Alexander, limping, holding his arm close to himself, a bloodstained shirt sticking to his undernourished frame. He looked up at her, and their eyes met, neither moving for a few seconds. 

Eliza stepped to the side, allowing Alexander in.

Forgiveness.


End file.
